


cherry hearts

by glitterforplaster (ineffableangel)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Come Shot, Face-Fucking, M/M, Past Abuse, Trans Male Character, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 13:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13482438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffableangel/pseuds/glitterforplaster
Summary: He wanted Ryuji to kiss him, so strongly it felt like a basic survival need of his body, like hunger, like sleep.





	cherry hearts

**Author's Note:**

> in the process of writing this i accidentally texted part of it to my mom. i literally died for your sins. title from the shins’ song of the same name. 
> 
> warning for quick reference to physical abuse and csa wrt k*moshida, and use of the words "pussy," "cunt," "clit," etc to refer to a trans man's genitalia. i am a trans man and comfortable with this language, but if it causes you dysphoria, proceed with caution. or crtl+f replace i guess

Ryuji stashed soft kisses under Mishima's jaw, one over a green bruise on his throat. He slid his thumb to the juncture of Mishima's neck and shoulder. A knot had developed in the muscle from stress and sports, and he pressed at the point of it until Mishima's head lolled back in relief. He was being so gentle... With his other hand, he rubbed Mishima through his panties. The cotton clung to the contours of his body where it was wet; a dark patch framed Ryuji's long fingers. Mishima squirmed into his palm, mouth open in a soft sigh of pleasure.

They were in Mishima’s bed. The sheets were baby blue. Everyone was out, leaving him the house, so a proposed study-and-Phantom-strategy session after school hadn’t lasted long without ulterior motives. Mishima couldn’t find it in him to complain.

"Yuuki," Ryuji murmured. His face was still pressed into the curve of Mishima's collarbone. His voice sent vibrations into his stomach. "Can you take them off?"

"Yeah.” Mishima pulled the hem of his boxers down, shimmied out, and set them aside. Then, self-conscious, he stupidly covered himself with his hand.

"You don't have to hide," Ryuji said. "It's just me."

Right. Mishima took his hand away. A Phantom Thief, a die-for-you-devoted friend, a fiery force who didn't do anything by halves... He didn't think there was anything _just_ about Ryuji.

Ryuji nudged his legs apart, encouraging, and Mishima let him, exposing himself. They'd been making out a while, and he was shiny with arousal. Ever since he'd started hormones, his clit didn't fit in its hood anymore. He felt thoroughly on display. The thought gave him a guilty thrill.

Ryuji sat back to drink him in. "Man. Wish I could take a picture. Put it up on the Phan-site. You'd have so many followers."

Mishima washed hot to his toes. His cunt twitched, flooding onto the sheets. He hoped Ryuji saw it happen.

"Fuck," Ryuji said, reaching out with hands shaking to spread Mishima open in a V shape. His fingers were slippery in seconds; it only took a few strokes. "Fuck, honey, you're so hot."

 _I'm not!_ Mishima wanted to blurt. He knew what he looked like. Pale, inadequate, easy to push around. A bruise in its second stage bloomed over his stomach; a bandaid or two betrayed a bad habit. But he tried to believe it. Ryuji wouldn't lie to him. "Th-thank you."

"D'you wanna take your binder off, too?"

Mishima's whole body tensed. _Take this damn thing off, you clearly can't breathe well enough to play, how can you expect to be a top athlete in such a restricting—_ He breathed shallowly through the panic. ”Um. No."

Ryuji shrugged, unbothered. "M'kay."

Beautiful, perfect Sakamoto.

“So… how do you wanna…?” Ryuji was still petting him; his knuckles caressed the soft folds while he waited for the answer, almost an absent gesture.

"I have—" Mishima took a breath. He didn’t want Ryuji to stop touching him. "I have, um. A vibrator."

" _Yes_ ," Ryuji hissed.

Mishima twisted to the side of the bed, opened the bedside drawer, and retrieved a silk bag stamped with a logo.

Ryuji raised what little of his eyebrow remained. “Easy access, huh?”

Mishima blushed. From the bag, he pulled a cotton candy-colored toy. "This is my close, personal friend, the Dream Bullet. It's small, but powerful. Kind of like me."

Ryuji grinned. He took it from Mishima's hand, and, holding it like a pen, clicked it on. It buzzed up through his wrist, whisper-quiet. "Nice."

"It has a couple settings," Mishima said, settling back into the pillows, "but I like the first one best."

Ryuji nodded. Brow furrowed with concentration, he pressed the vibe against Mishima's pussy, testing the pressure. Involuntarily, Mishima reached out and grabbed Ryuji's bicep for an anchor. A happy sigh escaped him.

Ryuji smirked. “Good?”

“Uh-huh,” Mishima murmured, spreading himself wider.

After some maneuvering, Ryuji settled on holding it lengthwise, the base tucked between his lips— safe, strangely comforting. The vibrations on this setting were low, but steady. Mishima felt himself slipping into a dreamlike space. His eyes shut; his head tilted back onto the pillows. He rubbed at his nipples through his binder and rode the rhythm. Rutting against the vibe rewarded him with jolts of intensity every time it met his dick.

Tired of slow satisfaction, Ryuji turned up the setting, shaking Mishima from his haze.

The buzz was different now, coming in short, strong bursts. He bucked into it, but Ryuji pushed his hips back down. Caught by surprise, Mishima let out a soft, "Oh!"

Ryuji pressed harder, pinning him to the bed until he squirmed, desperate for purchase, enthusiastic about denial.

"You like that?" Ryuji said. His hand looked big and strong on Mishima's stomach.

"Y- _Yes_ ,” Mishima said, flushing. Up until now, Ryuji had been unbearably gentle with him. Mishima couldn’t help but notice that, even now, he was carefully avoiding the bruise on his belly. It was loving, and a lot, and he was so, so grateful— But the tenderness of Ryuji's touch reminded him he was breakable. _Weak_. He’d rather feel real. Be treated like an equal, like he could give as good as he got.

Shyly, he said, "You could... be kinda rough, if you want. Hold me down, or... um, choke me, even."

Doubt flashed across Ryuji’s face. He took the vibe away. "You sure? I don't wanna hurt you."

"You could never," Mishima gushed. “I know I have a reputation for bruising easily, but oh my God, I would get on my knees and _thank you_ for any marks you left on me. You're _good,_ Ryuji. I... trust you. I really want you to.”

"Yeah, I guess reputations aren't everything," Ryuji said, scrubbing his cheek with his free hand. Doubt turned to thought. ”Get on your knees, huh?"

" _Yes_ ,” Mishima said. He'd hit the floor in a heartbeat. He'd hit it so hard his neighbors would wonder about the noise.

Ryuji smiled. It lit up the entire room. "I'll let you come first."

“Oh, wow, thank you,” Mishima said, unsure himself if he was being sarcastic. Ryuji slid the vibe back into position. “Such a— uh— gentleman."

"Not usually what they say about me," Ryuji said, teasing the tip of the vibe in circles around Mishima's clit. The switch in sensations was driving him crazy. It felt like liquid lightning. "But I'll take it."

"Sp-speaking of taking it—" Mishima gasped. "Can you— Oh, I want—" He grabbed the wrist of Ryuji's free hand and guided it to his center. "Inside me. Please.”

“Begging. Cute.” Ryuji grinned with half his mouth, showing off a pointy monster tooth. God, this boy. He spread Mishima open. His fore and middle fingers slid inside him as easy as a blade through hot butter. Mishima clenched hard around them, trembling. It felt like heaven.

Scooching forward, Ryuji rested his forehead against Mishima’s. Mishima grabbed a fistful of his hair. It was soft, though not as soft as he imagined Akira’s.

He wanted Ryuji to kiss him, so strongly it felt like a basic survival need of his body, like hunger, like sleep. But if— if that tenderness returned— It would be real, then, the way he felt about Ryuji. Not just boys fooling around. In the space between them, Ryuji's fingers buried in him up to the bend, Ryuji's mouth over his, breathing the same breath, there was no way Mishima could hide from it. There was something painfully genuine in the way Ryuji touched him, and he didn’t know if he deserved it. If he’d earned the right. If Ryuji could ever be his.

Ryuji didn't share his doubts. Didn't do anything in halves. He took Mishima's bottom lip between his teeth, not gentle at all but bold, bossy. Mishima melted under him.

Ryuji returned to the slow and steady setting on the vibe, then zeroed in on Mishima's clit. Every time the tip touched him head-on, it sent a shock through his solar plexus. “Too much, too much,” Mishima gasped against Ryuji's mouth.

But Ryuji was relentless; he didn’t apologize; he bore down harder, backed off a little, then repeated the motion, until Mishima was trembling. It was so intense, it was almost torture. He ground into it. He couldn’t help himself. His toes curled. A couple of tears rolled past his cheeks before he could blink them away.

"You're gagging for it,” Ryuji said, laughing at him a little. “You gonna come for me?”

“Want to,” Mishima whined, grinding hard into the heel of Ryuji’s hand. “Want to, want to. Wanna make you happy.” _Wanna give you everything you deserve. Wanna matter to you._ He was crying properly now, overwhelmed.

“You’re so pretty like this,” Ryuji said, crooking his fingers inside Mishima. “All messy and shiny. So good. Good boy, Yuuki."

That was it. Mishima clung to Ryuji as his came, his cunt convulsing around Ryuji's fingers. He came so hard his stomach hurt— he saw stars. Ryuji held him through the aftershocks, but the vibe was still on, and after a few minutes more, with a soft sob, he came a second time. The sheets were completely soaked beneath him. He was in outer space.

"Holy shit," Ryuji said, staring at him with awe.

Mishima could only shake. He squeezed at Ryuji's arm, trying to find his voice. He was wet all over.

Ryuji finally turned the vibe off. When he leaned in to kiss him again, Mishima breathlessly said, “Wait.” The word was a ghost on Ryuji’s lips.

Ryuji pulled back instantly. It was the reason Mishima trusted him, but it made him mad, too. He wanted Ryuji close— as close as possible, closer than was ever likely, or fair, as long as Ryuji had Akira. "What?"

Mishima steeled his resolve. "I want you to fuck my face."

“Oh, you have the _best_ ideas,” Ryuji said proudly.

Mishima rolled over and slid off the bed onto the floor, unable to make his legs work for anything else, wincing at how sensitive he was to the slightest brush. He sat up on his knees. Then he opened his mouth and waited.

Ryuji groaned at the sight; swung his legs over the side of the bed. He unbuckled his jeans and tugged them to his knees. His belt was studded with silver skulls, and his underwear had a Power Rangers print. Mishima was kind of in love with him. The reveal of his leg brace reminded Mishima of their mutual scars; suddenly, he didn't feel so self-conscious about his bruises.

Ryuji pushed his boxers down. His dick stood against his stomach, pretty and pink. He made a tight circle of his fingers around the base, and squeezed out a bead of pre-come from the head. Mishima darted forward to catch it on his cheek, a perfect white drop— until he swiped it off his thumb and tasted it. It was earthy and warm, like a meal.

When he looked up, Ryuji's own mouth was open.

“Sorry,” Mishima said, blushing hot. He hadn’t even thought about it. “Um, was that gross?”

“N— No! It was… sexy,” Ryuji assured him.

“Oh. Good.” Mishima smiled. He wrapped his own fingers around Ryuji and bent his head, kitten-licking at the slit. Then, tentatively, he took Ryuji into his mouth. Ryuji traced Mishima’s cheek with his thumb, feeling his own cock through it.

“Take your hand away,” Ryuji said, breathless. Mishima’s hand snapped down at his request, curling into a fist against his thigh. “I’m gonna be rough like you wanted, okay?”

Mishima nodded enthusiastically. Ryuji’s fingers found purchase in the mess of his hair. “What color conditioner do you use?” Ryuji asked, then shook his head fervently, as if to rid himself of thoughts. “Sorry, not important.”

Tightening his grip, he tugged Mishima down onto his dick. His hand cradled the back of Mishima’s head, holding him still, even though all he wanted was to move with Ryuji, kiss him all over. That Ryuji wouldn’t _let_ him— that he wasn’t in control— didn’t have to be— He could relax. He could go back to that blissful, dreamy place. He made a muffled _mmf_ sound around Ryuji and shut his eyes, giving himself over to it. Ryuji was heavy and hot on his tongue. His head hit a hint of Mishima’s throat and he started to thrust, making him take more and more. It got filthy fast.

“Yeah,” Ryuji groaned. His grip in Mishima’s hair temporarily eased, turning to a gentle petting. “Good boy. So sweet for me, look _so_ good with your mouth full. You’re doing so well, Yuuki. You’re amazing, taking it like a champ. Christ, you _really_ love this.”

Mishima was so blissed out he barely heard him, or the slick sounds he himself was making. His skin felt feverish, like the room was in the heart of summer, vision swimming. Reality was only his tongue, his throat, and Ryuji, holding him down. A black hole and the pull of gravity.

Ryuji slid out with a _pop_ and rubbed his head over Mishima’s bottom lip, his chin, his cheek, coating him in shiny stripes of come. Mishima shook with the effort of keeping himself upright.

“Come on my face,” he begged. "Please, please, _please_.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ryuji said. He curled his hand around his cock and stroked hard. Mishima held his breath. He pressed the heel of his hand between his legs and rocked against it, his clit hard again, watching Ryuji bring himself up to the edge of orgasm.

“Come on, Ryuji,” Mishima said, trying to be helpful— always trying to help, always eager to see the Phantom Thieves succeed. “Come on me, please, I wanna be covered in it, I wanna be yours.”

With a huff, Ryuji came in bursts on Mishima’s face. Mishima shut his eyes and tipped his head up, catching it in his mouth, across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Some of it got in his hair. Mishima wiped at his eyes so he could open them, but he didn’t touch the rest— he wanted to stay like this forever. Ryuji dragged his fingers through the mess, spreading it around even more.

“Thank you,” Mishima said softly, eyes glassy, lashes wet with tears. He knew he must look debauched. He had a strong desire to call Ryuji _sir_ , but repressed it— probably not his healthiest instinct. “Thank you so much.”

Ryuji was bright red. “You… You’re amazing. You look obscene right now. I wish I could show Akira.”

“Now who’s the vulgar boy?” Mishima rested his head against Ryuji’s knee; he was so tired. It was a good tired, a warm, safe kind— nothing like the worn-thin feeling he was used to. “You really could take a picture. Not for the Phan-site. Just for Akira.”

Ryuji lit up. He scrambled for his phone from the bedside table, almost dropping it on Mishima’s head. Mishima smiled sleepily, then kept it up for the photo.

“Wow,” Ryuji said once he’d snapped and sent it, staring down at his screen.

“Can I see?” Mishima asked, and Ryuji turned his phone towards him. It showed him a boy with dark, disheveled hair and flushed cheeks. His eyes had a vacant look. It shared the same features of the reflection in his mirror each morning, and yet it was so different. Here, he was happy. He felt sexy, and wanted.

Also, he was covered in pearly white streaks of Ryuji’s come.

A message notification obscured the Mishima of a minute ago.

 **[AK]** wow

 **[AK]** sakamoto ryuji i love your work

 **[AK]** please tell yuuki-kun he looks like a beautiful angel

Ryuji, hearing the messenger app, stole his phone back. He grinned as he read what Akira had written. “It’s true,” he said. “You do look like an angel.”

Mishima could hardly believe the high praise. If he’d had any energy left, he might’ve protested. But he only buried his face in Ryuji’s thigh, careful to wipe his cheek first with the back of his hand. He felt suddenly small again, not beautiful at all, and floaty— far away.

“Hey,” Ryuji said kindly, returning his fingers to Mishima’s hair, stroking it. “Hey, you’re okay. You were so, so, good. I promise. It’s time to come back now. You’re okay, honey. Stay here with me.”

Mishima’s hand clutched at the fabric of Ryuji’s jeans. Ryuji tucked himself back into his boxers, not bothering with his pants, then slid his hands under Mishima’s arms, and hauled him up from the floor and into his lap. He wrapped his arms around Mishima’s waist and held him close as he shivered, rubbing his back.

“Thank you,” Mishima said into Ryuji’s chest— again, soft, again, meaning it. “I—” He stopped himself. He’d been about to say, _I love you._ Ryuji had such a pure heart, he probably wouldn’t have minded, might have even said it back. But after all the ways they’d been intimate and vulnerable with each other today, this was one even Mishima wouldn’t allow himself.

“What?” Ryuji’s brow furrowed. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothin'."

“Why I always gotta twist your arm to get you to talk to me?” Ryuji groused. “You can tell me anything.”

“I’m gay and repressed.”

“Join the club,” Ryuji replied. “Actually, no, that club already exists and it’s called the Phantom Thieves.”

Mishima stiffened. He knew Ryuji hadn’t meant to hit that close to home. “Would if I could.”

“Yuuki—”

“I know,” Mishima said. He was starting to tear up again. Why did he have such a hair trigger when it came to crying? It was humiliating. “I— I’m glad I was able to be good for you. I just want to be important to you.”

Ryuji barked a laugh, then flashed guilty. He cupped Mishima’s cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m not making fun of you, I swear. It’s just— Yuuki, we fucked. I gave you a facial. My boyfriend and I have an explicit agreement about you. You’re our _friend,_ and not only because you help us— because we like you! Of _course_ you’re important to us. Of course you’re a Phantom Thief. It’s what’s in your heart that matters, remember? And your heart is, like... made of candy.”

Mishima lifted his head and eyed him skeptically. “What kind of candy?”

“Bit-O-Honey,” Ryuji answered, all serious.

“That’s lame,” Mishima said, sniffling. “Your heart is a Sour Patch kid."  _Sour. Sweet. Gone._

Ryuji laughed brightly. “Fine, you’re strawberry chocolate.”

“Better. Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me for shit.”

“Stop being nice to me, then!”

Ryuji kissed him. “Never.”

They lay down together, Ryuji the big spoon, both avoiding the wet spot Mishima had created on the sheets. He’d throw them in the laundry later, when Ryuji left, but for now he enjoyed the lazy dusk light through the window, and Ryuji’s warmth against his back, his arms around him, safe. Loved. Home.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> mishima yuuki is thirsty and that is valid.


End file.
